Unforgivable
by Teanni
Summary: Now that Kronos has made an unexpected appearance in Methos' life what is going to happen next? To what lengths is Methos willing to go to ensure his own safety? And how understanding are those who are close to him going to be about it? When it comes down to the question of survival which acts are ultimately unforgivable?
1. Overture

**Disclaimer: **_I don't own anything even remotely related to the TV show Highlander. This has been purely written out of fan-appreciation and because the episodes centered around the Four Horsemen have always intrigued me. Liz Gilbert is a creation of mine, other than that I've been thoroughly uninventive concerning the characters. Methos, McLeod, Joe, Cassandra, Kronos - they all belong to Mr Davis and Mr Panzer who I'd like to kindly ask not to sue me._

He walked down the dark alley and she followed at a respectful distance, always clinging to the shadows. Once upon a time she had been quite good at this whole cloak and dagger stuff. Once upon a time, now she still was good at it, but she sort of lacked the practice. There had been a couple of close calls and this seemed to be another one of them.

He paused for a moment. She detected a certain tension in his shoulders, which indicated that he thought about turning around. Liz clasped her hand over her mouth, suppressing a gasp and took a few cautious steps back. Her back pressed against the cold brick wall to her left. The stone was wet and cold. The wetness soaked through the fabric of her coat and let her shiver, but she held her breath, because now his head pointed in her direction. She didn't dare make a sound.

There was hardly anything she didn't believe Methos capable of. For a few seconds she even entertained the grotesque thought he had night vision and saw her lurking there in the dark. But luckily except for his immortality he didn't seem to have any other supernatural abilities. After a second he turned around and started walking again. Only after a couple of moments had passed, she dared to let out a long drawn stifling exhale and finally continued following him again.

She didn't have a lot of experience tailing another Immortal. Well, to be honest she had sometimes sneaked after Amanda in their time together. But she had only done it because her friend was anything other than the epitome of trustworthiness. Anyway, keeping a distance of about 20 meters from her target proved hard at times, especially with one individual as aware of everything and anything as Methos. If she got too close he would notice her, if she let him skip ahead too far she would end up losing him. With his constant alertness, he made things difficult for her. She shouldn't have been surprised by his behaviour, after all she knew him long enough to be acquainted with that particular trait of his character.

Perhaps he had a right to be suspicious, she was after all spying on him, but just because her gut told her something was wrong. What made that impression even stronger was the particularly shifty behaviour he had displayed in the last couple of days. He had ever so often been absent-minded and at times prickly to the point of losing his temper whenever she had dared to tease him. Now one needed to know that teasing presented a quintessential ingredient to their relationship. One thing they both seemed to agree on was that the world was a too serious place anyway. So why take everything, including themselves so goddamn serious? Needless to say that his change of attitude, which had expressed itself in number of tantrums, had shocked her. He had said 'sorry' every time afterward, but that just didn't cut it. Her world had become off kilter and he couldn't just fixed that with a simple 'I'm sorry'. She would have liked it much better if he had just told her what was going on. Instead he had kept his mouth shut and his problem to himself. So in the end he had forced her hand. Yes, he had forced her to do this.

She followed him down another alley as he wandered deeper and deeper into the dodgy part of Seacouver. And his presence here already confirmed part of her suspicions – he was up to no good. The knot in her stomach tightened a little more. It had been there for the last couple of days and now with each minute her disappointment and dejection increased and weighed a little heavier on her heart. A constant nauseous took a hold of her and it intensified when she ducked behind a dust bin at the end of the alley to watch him make his way to some deserted factory building that lay ahead of them. It looked intimidating the way it loomed ahead in the darkness. Its smashed windows stared at her like gaping black holes, the huge chimneys on top resembled the stretched out fingers of a hand, ready to drag someone down. She reached underneath her coat, searching with a shacking hand for her rapier. Touching its leather bound hilt reassured her the tiniest bit and she closed her eyes for a second, trying to calm herself.

She knew, if she tried really hard, she should be able to detach herself from her emotions. It wasn't that difficult. Close the lid, shove them back to where they belong. She would repress them for a couple of minutes and once she found herself in a safer environment she would invite them back in. Yes, that should do the trick. Again she pressed her eyes shut and took in a few calming breaths to focus herself. She couldn't afford losing any more time, because Methos was already making his way towards the entrance of that decrepit, run down building. Once she lost sight of him everything would be over. She wouldn't allow that to happen. So she followed behind quickly, her movements a soft rustle of fabric in the shadow, nothing more. Her feet were almost soundless thanks to those rubber soled sneakers she wore.

"Balance Power Plant" a rusty old sign read that was hanging in an odd angle from the cyclone fence that had once warded off unwanted intruders. Now it wouldn't hold off anyone anymore as cut up as it was in several places and with the huge padlock that had before sealed the gate shut lying in the dust. Right next to it were some heavy chains, all brown and weathered, coiled up like a snake.

She saw him enter the place after he had experienced a moment of hesitation. Good, at least he wasn't that sure about whatever shifty thing he was doing. By now it had become clear that he wasn't planning something as charming and harmless as a birthday surprise for her. In fact Liz prepared for the worst.

Now that he had entered the building, he had effectively left her her sight. Under no circumstances was she to lose sight of him permanently. If that happened, the last half an hour would have been a complete waste of time. But that wasn't the worst of it. She could unwittingly give herself away. And that would without a doubt be the case if he stopped walking again now. Imminent detection would be upon her and of course also his wrath. Unfortunately being detected wasn't quite as easily avoided as Immortals came equipped with their own little proximity warning system. For once she cursed her own immortality that would forever make her unable to sneak up on other Immortals as easily as on Mortals.

With bated breath she approached the door that, big surprise there, was also rather rusty and had seen better days. Liz scurried inside and hid behind a huge container right next to the entrance. She allowed her eyes only a brief second to adapt to the new level of darkness inside the building. Emergency lighting illuminated the abandoned power plant. Some dim lights bathed the place in a strange, sort of creepy bluish hue. She strained her ears and detected the distinct echo of footsteps on metal grates. She risked a glance and saw Methos climb up to the upper levels of the power plant, walking down gangways and climbing up several flights of stairs. He was heading towards some kind of ladder that led up to... well, somewhere. Somewhere he needed to get to quite urgently. Without any warning he turned again, his head whipping to the left and the right, almost like a foxhound on the hunt or some other creature trying to sniff out its prey. She barely had the time to dive back into cover. She tried to calm her racing heart, praying silently she hadn't blown her cover. Yes, praying to whatever god inclined to listen to a person like her that hardly believed in a higher power and had lived a life which would be called depraved and sinful by any devout man.

When finally she decided to sneak a glance around the corner of the container that served her as a hiding place, she saw him climb up the ladder. Shortly after Liz set into motion again and hurried to get to the bottom of the ladder. From there she intended to overhear whatever secret meeting was about to take place over her head. At this point she was ready to hope it would turn out to be another woman, because it seemed to her the most harmless scenario.

Of course she had no such luck. The talk she overheard, cowering at the bottom of the ladder Methos had ascended mere minutes ago, positively let her blood run cold. It consisted of threats and not only that. Methos came pretty close to losing his head judging by the bustle and commotion she overheard. At this point it cost her immense willpower not to interfere. She had to trust in his ability to survive. And even though right now she didn't trust in much concerning him anymore, this she was sure of. He would somehow manage to survive this. So she waited, her muscles so tense they ached. The situation overhead seem to calm down somewhat. But the words "calm down" in themselves were ironic, considering the current conversation topic of two men.

As she waited, she overheard a story of ancient horrors and of the Four Horsemen. A tale that let chills run down her spine and nausea rise inside her stomach. A taunting, unfamiliar voice described Methos' blood drenched past not with horror, as a sane person would do, but with something akin to nostalgia. The account of his many terrible deeds dating back to his past as a Horseman suddenly seemed very real, very tangible. Probably because the person who talked about this long gone past, had actually been there. The way the other man called Methos 'brother', let her suspect as much. The gruesome story created pictures before her mind's eye. She thought she almost heard the screams of the people he... they, the Horseman, had slaughtered. She gulped heavily, suppressing an onslaught of what exactly? Disappointment? Grief?

She didn't have enough time to process what she felt, even despite the fact that she had sworn herself not to let anything get to her. She heard Methos claim that he had changed, pleading with his conversation partner to understand that he had overcome his violent past. Oh, how she wanted to believe that! But in the end the other one, a man with a voice that was pleading, threatening, seducing, but also instilling fear, backed him in a corner figuratively speaking, perhaps even literally speaking.

They mentioned the name of a woman. A certain Cassandra. Obviously that woman wanted Methos dead. They seemed to go a long way back. Nevertheless she had never heard that name, but then another name followed, one she knew quite well. McLeod. Her eyes narrowed. Of course it all came down to this one name. McLeod. Always McLeod. The eye of every storm. At the center of every catastrophe.

Methos was supposed to kill him and the other man promised to kill that Cassandra person in exchange. Was that supposed to be a favour? Probably. At any rate this Cassandra seemed to play an important role in this whole muddled up, messy situation. What was that woman to Methos anyway? A former lover? A wife even? She would wreck her brains about that later because right now those thoughts seemed to be a bit too dangerous to pursue further. Again they scratched at the thin wall behind which she had sealed away the confusing, overwhelming mass she nowadays called her emotions. She couldn't afford emotions right now, so she pushed those thoughts away.

"Kill McLeod!" the voice above her head sneered again and again at Methos who seemed to be not too keen on that proposal. He refused, calling McLeod his friend, either trying to be brave or stupid. Momentarily she couldn't decide which on. Of course it was the right thing to say, seen from a moral point of view. But she wished he hadn't. After all, despite of how disappointed she was in him right now, she still wanted him to survive. The other voice grew louder and more threatening. It insisted that he swore an oath to kill McLeod. She waited for the dices to stop rolling and fall. It did. Methos' whispered a somewhat hoarse, "I swear", which signaled her that the conversation was over. It made her leave, or to be more precise, actually flee from the abandoned power plant as if the devil himself chased her.

Liz ran and ran, until her sides ached, until her breath came out as gasps. She finally stopped, unsure where she had ended up. The streets looked unfamiliar, but at least this part of town filled with people, so she must have put quite a distance between herself and that abandoned power plant. People. The last thing she needed right now when she knew herself to be seconds away from having an emotional meltdown. Strong emotions could only be suppressed for a certain time. After that all bets were off.

She battled against the rising and rather overpowering sadness that flared awake inside of her. There were two options right now. Let it happen, let it all pour out or channel it into anger. But anger needed energy and she felt drained. So it was going to be sorrow. She took a few more steps, then slumped down on the steps that led up to the entry of some unfamiliar house with a sigh. Today she felt those one hundred plus years in her bones.

The house looked well kept, geraniums decorated the window sills, curtains shielded the inside of the house from curious glances. But she didn't lose any more thoughts on the house. Some liquid ran down her cheek. Gingerly she touched her fingertips to it. She was crying without making a sound. Angry with herself, she tried to blink those tears away. She hadn't cried over anything or anybody in a good long while. All because of him. Because she bloody cared for him and now that he had managed to get himself in danger she couldn't help but worry. No, scratch that. Worry would have been putting it mildly. She was terrified.

When it came to him, one needn't lose any sleep over the question of whether he could hold his own in a dangerous situation. Methos embodied all those qualities of a survivor. People sometimes quipped about who would be the last living things on the planet after a nuclear catastrophe. Some bet their money on cockroaches and Cher. Personally she agreed with 50 % of the statement. Her version was cockroaches and Methos.

While his chances of survival didn't have her worried, though it did play a rather huge role in her thoughts, she was more concerned with what he was willing to do in order to survive. For this reason alone she spilled tears she hadn't cried in what may well have been years. A sob strangled her windpipes and she buried her head between her knees, trying to take some calming breaths.

McLeod was his friend. Would he be able to kill him? Would he do it if his options were shrinking down to two alternatives: Him or his friend? She couldn't answer that question and it terrified her. The thought what he would allow himself to become in order to survive was even more terrifying.

What she had heard back there about the Four Horsemen, now that was something even someone like her had some trouble digesting. She was a liar, a fraud. In her time she had used sex as a weapon. She had used it to silence the voice of protest, to make money, to gain an advantage. Hell, she had stolen and conned her way through Europe with Amanda for the better part of the Victorian Age... As a consequence she couldn't afford to be all uppity and point the moral finger. But then again she had never murdered someone in cold blood. Injustice especially towards children and women appalled her, because it struck a nerve.

The Horsemen had killed women and children. And Methos had been one of them. She had known about his past, about the darkness that lurked in it. But never could she have imagined, it would be that pitch black. It made her reevaluate her attitude towards him, everything they shared and still she came out of those reflections with a devastating realization. She was stupid. Oh, so utterly stupid! She still loved him. Despite everything. Despite her better knowledge. Her love for him bore a terrifying resemblance to a chronic disease. Being an Immortal she had never been sick, but that was like she imagined it. Her emotions for him debilitated her. They made her too weak to just shake her head, stand up, say "no more" and proudly walk away. No, she would stay. She would get involved in this mess. Oh, how she hated him for that!

But how could she walk away now when this other man's presence posed a constant threat to his life? Join me or die. Those were Methos' choices and she knew how he hated to have his choices narrowed down to the miniscule number of two. Of course he would choose life. But what did that mean?

Evolution theory. Natural selection. Survival of the fittest. Despite her tears she smirked to herself, though that smirk had a rather bitter quality to it. In a hostile environment only those who were ruthless enough, who were cold enough would survive. Methos had without a doubt the ability to be ruthless and cold, but those were not two of his qualities she appreciated too much. Over all those months she had gotten to know him, she had quite naively entertained the thought that sometimes she saw behind his carefully crafted facade of deception and ambiguity. But now doubts formed in her mind concerning this ability. Maybe it had all been a terrible misunderstanding, maybe he had only let her believe what she wanted to believe. Of course that would have been a smart thing to do.

Had she fallen for a decoy? She felt ashamed. She should have been smarter than that. But then again she wasn't the only one willing to fall for an illusion. A lot of people did on a regular basis. There were whole trades based on that concept and it worked out fine for them. Stage magicians, politicians, actors... They distract their audience with flashy costumes and dramatic hand gestures while they deceive them. The audience only sees what it wants to see. Or to be more precise, what the illusionist wants them to see. Had he done the same to her? She wanted to believe so much that it wasn't the case. She wanted to. She needed to. If she didn't, what else was she to believe in?

* * *

She wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand and got up. She had no time to be sitting around, moping in self-pity. There were places she had to be. People she had to talk to, now that she had a vague idea what was going on with Methos. She needed to find out more about that Cassandra person and more importantly she needed to talk to McLeod.

Joe Dawson was Methos' friend. He was a Mortal and a Watcher and she trusted him. Actually she had trusted him from the first moment she met him, which was a strange thing for her because she didn't trust other people easily. But what surprised her even more was that it had happened despite the fact that she knew he belonged to a secret society that monitored Immortals' activities and lives in general.

There was something about him that instantly inspired trust. He did vaguely remind her of her father. Also he didn't jump to conclusions or point his finger in accusation too quickly. Which was refreshing, considering that McLeod, though she considered him very likeable character, tended to quickly get morally all-uppity with other people.

That was probably why she sought out Joe first and not McLeod. The Scotsman often came across as too opinionated for her taste and she didn't possess the energy to deal with that right now. No, Joe presented a safer bet. She just hoped that she would be able to catch him alone.

When she climbed down the stairs to his bar, she found the place deserted. The lights were on and the stereo was playing soft blues music. She stepped closer to the counter and climbed on a stool to throw a look over it. There were wet glasses standing next to the sink that needed drying and the kitchen towel that could have been used to do that was lying next to them. So Joe was there, she concluded, but something more important than drying glasses had him otherwise occupied. Perhaps he was digging through his Watcher files. What if McLeod had been there earlier, urging Joe to do so?

She looked around some more. There was a curtain behind the bar which probably let to a storage room, all the chairs and were turned upside down and positioned on top of the tables. The bar was so empty now, it almost seemed ghostly.

"Joe," she called out to the empty room. No response. She got behind the counter and switched off the stereo. "Joe!" her voice boomed through the empty bar. The place had a very good acoustic. Again she waited for a response. She was seconds away from starting to worry when suddenly he emerged from behind the curtain next to her, making her jump in fright because of his unexpected appearance.

"Joe," she breathed, covering her chest with her right hand underneath which she felt her heart beating quite frantically.

"Liz," he acknowledged her presence with a smile that looked somewhat halfhearted, even exhausted. She could immediately tell something was up. McLeod had beaten her here. Her demeanor immediately changed. She instantly became more guarded and reserved. He knew. Of course not the whole extent of today's events, but enough. At least he knew enough to watch her with an air of pity and curiosity.

She decided not to lead with the fact that she was aware that McLeod had dropped by earlier. It would harden the fronts and make it more difficult for her to get the information she needed. Joe's voice ripped her out of her thoughts.

"You look terrible," he observed. True, it was kind of hard to miss the purplish shadows under her eyes that stemmed from a lack of sleep and her pale skin. What made those features perhaps even more noticeable was the absence of makeup on her face. She always wore makeup.

She flashed him a fake grin, unwilling to let him know that she probably felt as terrible as she looked. "Gee, Joe, you sure know how to flatter a girl..."

"You're worried because of him, right?" he asked, ignoring her quip which presented a feeble attempt at normalcy at best anyway. "So you've heard about what happened at McLeod's..."

His statement got her curious. She inclined her head a little to the left, trying to make up her mind about the fact whether his last sentence had been a question or a statement. "No, what happened at McLeod's?" she finally asked, deciding against lying to him in order to coax the information out of him. Right now she was too tired for lying anyway, especially lying to someone she liked. There were other ways of getting what she wanted.

She saw the surprise on Joe's face. Then a pensive frown replaced the look of surprise. It seemed like he was trying to figure out whether he should give into the urge to tell her what had happened or keep his mouth shut about it. "Joe...," she repeated his name in an imploring tone of voice. His eyes focused on her face inevitably." I need to know."

"It's not that easy, kiddo," he sighed. She resisted the urge to point out to him that she was anything other than a kid, in fact she had nearly 200 years under her belt. Definitely not a kid. Nearly four times his age.

"Believe me. I know. When was the last time anything was easy? Right about never, I suppose," she ran her hand over her hair, trying to smooth down those tendrils that had escaped her smooth ponytail in the last couple of hours.

"Look, all we have is suspicions. They might not even be true. Who knows..."

"But those suspicions regard him, don't they? So I have a right to know," she interrupted him. Her voice came out low and seemingly soft, but especially in her last sentence the underlying edge in it broke through.

He looked at her long and hard. His hand gripped his cane a little tighter. So tight in fact his knuckles turned white. She noticed all those things and decided to take pity on him. After all she didn't need to make this more difficult for him.

"Why are you hesitating?" she took a step closer regarding him with narrowed eyes. "Is it that you're not sure how to tell me? Or are you asking yourself how much I already know? There's a way around it, Joe," she threw him a reassuring smile. "Drop me a hint. If I pick up on it, then I know. If not, no harm done."

The expression on his face actually relaxed a tiny bit thanks to her words. Obviously he was actually considering her proposal. "Horse," he said finally.

That innocent, single word out of Joe's mouth hit her like a bucket of ice water. Of course. Pandora's box was open. Now she understood Methos' preoccupation, the fact that he had been so lost in thought the last couple of days. His dirty little secret had been revealed. The one he had never wanted to tell his friends. Especially not McLeod and Joe.

Duncan was loyal to his friends. He had high moral standards and lived by a code of honor. He lived in a world divided up in heroes and villains. How was Methos supposed to fit into that world, if a person as morally ambiguous as her had already given McLeod pause? He didn't have the same arguments going for him as Amanda. Also there was a considerable difference between mass murder and thievery. So in the end the question was not too hard to answer and it nearly caused her to panic. She needed to talk to McLeod to do some damage control. Soon.

Apparently Joe had seen the look of shock on her face. For once the capacity to mask her true emotions seemed to have eluded her. "Are you alright?" he touched her arm in a gesture of concern and reassurance.

She shook her head. "No," Liz said quietly. Her normal answer would have been that she was always alright, but this time it seemed unlikely anyone would buy that lie, especially not Joe. "Don't bother lying if it's not convincing" was one of her rules. She might as well go all the way now.

"Actually, Joe, I'm so far from alright, it's not even funny anymore," she smiled a sad smile. Her voice sounded thin and her eyes were shining, that was probably why Joe saw it fit to pull her into a hug. He smelled of Old Spice, fabric softener and cigar smoke – not an unpleasant smell. She let the hug happen, though under normal circumstances she wouldn't have allowed such an invasion of her personal space, which seemed quite silly now, because it made her feel even the slightest, most minuscule bit better.

"Thank you," she said almost shyly after he had let go of her.

"Don't make a big deal out of it," he smiled at her gruffly. "Sit down," he indicated the stool on the other side of the counter. "Have a glass of water." Those soft orders he issued expressed the concern of a friend and for that reason she went against her own nature and followed them with a nod, even though it somewhat ruined the tough as nails persona she wanted to broadcast to the whole world. Well, at least Joe would now sooner or later come to realize that she hid behind a facade on a daily basis.

He placed a glass of water in front of her. She took a tentative sip. As it washed down her dry throat it managed to sooth its burning. Her eyes focused on the glass. If you looked through it, objects behind it became magnified and contorted. The optical illusion was created thanks to the combination of water and glass. She sighed and forced her mind back to the unpleasant topic from which her thoughts always seemed to shy away.

"The Four Horsemen," she said, despite the fact that at this point this sort of acknowledgment was unnecessary. Joe nodded and stayed silent.

"How have you found out?" she asked. A moment of silence passed between them, only filled by the quiet and unobtrusive buzz of the air conditioning.

Again her question triggered hesitation on Joe's side of the conversation.

"Please, Joe, I only want to know," she threw him a pleading look.

He shook his head in quiet frustration. She sensed he wanted to help her, after all his behaviour showed that he at least sympathized with her. But his sympathy for her wouldn't let him forget his friendship with McLeod. He was only going to tell her so much. "There is this acquaintance of McLeod's that's after a guy named Kronos. He's one of the Horsemen..," he said after much hesitation. The fact that he didn't want to disclose the gender of this mystery friend of Duncan's gave away a lot already. She was ready bet her life on the fact that this acquaintance was female and went by the name Cassandra.

"Let me guess, this person has also identified Methos as one of them," she supplied.

Joe nodded. No use denying that. "Is it true? Is he really one of them?" he immediately asked. The way his eyes focused on her face told her that he desperately wanted to know. He wanted to know so desperately because he cared. In this very moment it seemed tempting to say no, in order to safe Joe from the delusion and heart-break of finding out about his best friend's gruesome past.

Should she do it? Should she come out and say it and confirm his worst fears and suspicions? She hesitated. It did seem kind of cruel even if it was the right thing to do.

"What if it was?" she asked after a while, deciding to take what she thought would be a more comfortable route for the both of them. Evasion. But just as soon as she said those words, she already experienced the first stirrings of profound regret. She shouldn't be sticking to half-truths. Methos usually did and that hadn't worked out so well for him.

"You sound like him," Joe remarked and that accusation alone made her want to stop beating around the bush and finally put her trust in someone. She would have loved to do the lonely hero bit, but after what she had witnessed tonight she lacked the strength for that. There was only so much she could take.

"Joe, listen, if I tell you the answer to this question, there will be no running to McLeod and spilling your beans to him, no scribbling it down in one of your files, understood? I'll tell you because you're my friend and friends don't deserve to be lied to," she said sternly.

"Alright," he held her gaze. The tone in his voice was solemn.

"I mean it, Joe. Swear it. Promise you won't tell a living soul about this," she reached out his hand to him, willing him to take it.

He didn't reach for it. "Why are you doing this?" he wanted to know.

"Because I need someone I can trust," she shrugged, still holding out his hand to him. "You're my friend. And I don't trust easily. That's gotta be worth something. Besides I need someone that has my back. If I'm supposed to tell the truth to someone, I'd rather it be you than anybody else."

He sighed and reached out his hand to take hers."All right. I promise."

"Good," she nodded, then took a deep breath and met his eyes. "It's true."

Joe let go off her hand almost immediately. She had some trouble pinpointing the look on his face. Several emotions played across it in the short span of time of only few seconds. Hurt, delusion, acceptance, anger. A whole lot of that negative spectrum. Had she looked like that when she first found out, she asked herself? But she didn't have an awful lot of time to wonder about that. Joe surprised her with his level-headedness in a time of crisis. She should have expected no less of him. After all he had been through the ordeal of a war. Vietnam...

"I can only guess how you must have felt when you found out...," he said sympathetically.

She just shook her head, neither ready nor willing to talk about her emotional or mental state. "Let's not do this now, okay?" Her voice sounded low and imploring when she said those words.

"Okay," Joe replied in an equally low voice.

It was nice of him to be sensitive to her emotions like this, but she couldn't afford to be hung up on a sentimentality right now. Regrettably some blanks still needed to be filled. Liz got herself together and pushed through her sympathy and dejection, uncertain where she would end up afterward. To her own surprise she ended up feeling determined.

She finally raised her chin to look at the Watcher, her new found resolve shining in her eyes. "That woman McLeod brought here, her name isn't Cassandra by any chance?" The brief widening of Joe's eyes told her more than any verbal answer could have. He opened his mouth to say something, but she held up her hand to stop him. "No, on a second thought, don't answer that. I'm aware that Duncan's friendship is important to you, so if you don't want to say it out loud, that's okay. I've already got my answer anyway."

He was smart enough not to ask her how she had got her answer; instead he chose a much smarter alternative. He took the opportunity to ask some more questions of his own. "Do you know anything we don't?"

"Let's leave the 'we' out of that question, shall we? It'll make me more inclined to tell you," she said narrowing her eyes at him disapprovingly.

"Mac's my friend too," he reasoned.

"And he's mine. But for once I'm not putting too much trust in his ability to make the right call. He switches into tunnel vision mode once a friend of his is concerned, especially if it's a lady friend. We both know that Duncan's world is a black and white sort of place. There isn't much room for gray in it," Liz pointed out almost angrily. Having said those words, she got up from the stool in front of the bar. She needed to leave now. Maybe she had been wrong in believing Joe would take Methos' side in this. He would have found out about Methos being part of the Four Horsemen anyway. She just preferred it was from her, instead of an angry and opinionated McLeod. Perhaps she had been wrong to put her trust in him.

His next words however convinced her of the contrary, at least in part. "Don't you think I'm aware of that? I'm not that quick to judge..."

So she hesitated. In fact she hesitated for a long time. The temptation to tell him about the deal between Methos and... Kronos was big. It would take a colossal weight off her shoulders. But what would Joe do if the life of his precious McLeod was threatened? Would he understand that Kronos had forced Methos' hand? Would he defend Methos' actions? It seemed doubtful at best. After all even she had a hard time understanding them herself, let alone defending them.

"Yes and I'm glad for it," she said. "But what about Methos? Are you his friend too? Are you willing to choose a side? Because that's what it will eventually come to if McLeod acts his usual, narrow-minded, pig-headed self. Can you afford choosing sides? After all you're were a Watcher last time I checked. You're still entitled to an opinion of course, but your hands a tied. All you can do is talk and not act. I'm hoping you're at least willing to spare a couple of words in Methos' defense..."

"Sure but..." Joe's great misfortune he seemed unable to finish the sentence. He just hung his head dejectedly. Again she got her answer without having to hear the actual words. Even if he would argue in Methos' favour, he wasn't much of a help to her.

She shook her head regretfully. "Joe, I'm sorry. But no. I won't tell you. Not now anyway. It's too risky. I need to know the odds first. I need to talk to McLeod ." And with those parting words she left the bar without looking back.

Stopping by had not been a complete waste of time. She had found a sympathetic ear, someone to confide in. Someone who wouldn't judge. Well, at least to a certain point. And that was almost by default what bartender were good for, weren't they?


	2. Cunning

She parked her car a block away from McLeod's flat and started walking. Her pace wasn't brisk; actually it resembled a Sunday stroll. She used the time she needed to get to McLeod's apartment to clear her head. Her visit to Joe's had helped build up her confidence once again, at least to a certain degree. But reaching normalcy seemed a goal as unattainable as working through all those things she had learned about Methos' past tonight. On top of everything the conversation that awaited her at Duncan's flat would not contribute to setting her mind at ease. Especially not if that Cassandra person was still so dead set on having her revenge.

In her mind Liz tried to work out some guide lines she intended to follow during their talk. She wanted to get through her face-off with the immortal tag team, consisting of McLeod and Cassandra, unscathed. She had always been big fan of Machiavelli's book "Il Principe", a treatise on how to gain and keep power by being cunning. Even though it had been years since she last read the book, its ideas were so appealing they still were fresh in her mind. So the first rule she came up with went like this:

1. Don't reveal your true intentions.

That idea made her smirk to herself. She wouldn't have any trouble with that one, since she was still having a hard time figuring out what her intentions were herself. At any rate she wanted to protect Methos and keep him out of harm's way.

She continued her mental list:

2. Don't let the others provoke you. Whoever gets angry first loses.

3. If you can, stay quiet and listen, don't talk too much.

4. Appeal to McLeod's sense of friendship and loyalty.

5. You're a woman. Duncan likes to play the knight in shining armour. Try to work that in your favour.

Her mind churned to a halt at number five. Her eyes widened as she realized her index finger was already insistently pressing down the lift call button in a staccato rhythm. Without even noticing she had entered the apartment building. She sighed and ran her hand through her hair. This day, or better night, was wearing her out. She needed to catch an eyeful pretty soon, but with the way things were going, sleep would elude her for a couple of more hours.

She entered the lift and the dotty old thing set into motion. Half the way up to McLeod's loft she sensed the presence of another Immortal. Liz squared her shoulders and mentally prepared for the talk ahead of her. So Duncan was home and probably not alone. It looked like she would soon make the acquaintance of that Cassandra chick. Two birds with one stone.

With a forceful upward shove she opened the grates of the lift and stepped outside. In order to avoid having a sword tip hovering in front of her nose in the next couple of seconds, she called out some words of greeting and reassurance. "Hey, Duncan, it's Liz! Keep your paws away from anything sharp and pointy, aye?"

As she let her eyes roam over her surroundings, she spotted Duncan and a lady friend in the living room area. Doubtlessly their feathers had been ruffled properly, considering the disconcerted looks on their faces. Duncan stepped in front of the woman, assuming the role of defender and alpha male straight away, but he visibly relaxed when he realized it was her.

"Liz?" he took a tentative step towards her. "Are you okay?"

She contemplated his words for a moment. "I've had better days...," she answered vaguely.

In the meantime he had yet again taken a step in her direction. His face showed a lot of preoccupation. Her well-being seemed to be important to him. Only now it occurred to her how loyal and well-meaning a person he truly was. But even those positive traits of character could be taken too far and good intentions could turn sour in the blink of an eye, she reminded herself forcefully.

"Have you heard...," he started asking, but she cut him off with an impatient wave of her hand.

"You throw sticks and stones at a pond, there are ripples. Of course I know, Duncan," she answered, throwing a curious glance at the woman standing behind McLeod. Her face reminded her of that of a lioness. The full mane of auburn hair she sported contributed to that impression. All together her outward appearance gave her a regal and ageless air. Liz couldn't help but be jealous of her poise. It seemed like it was innate, but if it was something one acquired along the way from a certain age upward, perhaps there was still hope for her.

Apparently their interest in each other was mutual, because the woman she presumed to be Cassandra soon came closer and seized her up. "Who is she Duncan?"

What a good question! As straight to the point as they came, keeping the essentials in eye sight. Liz was very curious to hear what Duncan would answer. Among the many possibilities he had at his disposal he chose the most telling and devastating one, at least from her perspective. His confession would inevitably set her up to a bad start with the woman in front of her. "She's Methos' girlfriend."

The woman's facial expression showed that she strongly disapproved of her choice in partners. It displayed a mixture of disgust and suspicion. Liz ignored the waves of animosity rolling in her direction. "Actually I don't like to be referred to as someone's girlfriend. I still have a name," she scolded McLeod, but then directed her attention towards the other woman, after all she was her prime concern. "It's Elizabeth, by the way. May I ask yours? I didn't get it before." Usually she would offer people to call her Liz, but with McLeod's lady friend here it didn't strike her as appropriate. It seemed unlikely they would ever become something like friends.

The other woman's borderline hostile behaviour towards her confirmed that suspicion. With her arm crossed over her chest and her chin raised in a way that conveyed a certain superiority she stared at her the same way someone would stare at mucus living at the bottom of a pond. "I didn't give it before." Duncan would have been stupid not to sense the tension between the two women. The air was literally crackling. He stepped between them, breaking their eye contact that way. "Cassandra, she's a friend. I'm sure she didn't have the best of times today finding out Methos was one of the four Horsemen."

Liz nodded dutifully at McLeod's comment, taking note of a couple of things at once as she did. There was for one the fact that Duncan felt compelled to touch Cassandra's arm to reassure her which indicated a certain level of intimacy. It implied there was something more than friendship between the two of them. The other thing that occurred to her had something to do with the situation in general. She needed to convince the other two Immortals of her trustworthiness if she wanted to coax any information at all out of them.

Some tears would be most helpful at this point too, she reasoned as she sat down in one of Duncan's armchairs. With a gesture that conveyed an air of exhaustion and dejection she pinched the bridge of her nose and leaned back with a huff. It was not hard projecting those emotions because they had been the one reliable constant tonight. The eyes of her audience were on her. Time to say her lines.

"Listen, I really want no harm. I just came here to talk," she explained in a low voice, while she tried to conjure those tears that were essential to her performance. Liz purposefully stirred her thoughts in a direction she had avoided all night. She allowed them to wrap themselves around the possibility that Methos had lied to her and that this whole messy situation they found themselves in at present would end up a complete disaster. What she meant by disaster was the death of a Methos, McLeod or herself. She imagined the worst case scenario to be a combination of those three. She was not too worried about Cassandra by the way, because she was still glaring at her despite of her heart-warming display of vulnerability.

To her satisfaction her attempts at tearfulness were starting to pay off. In the meantime, her eyes had become quite watery and when McLeod laid a soothing hand on her shoulder, a couple of fake tears spilled out of them. "I just don't know what to believe anymore," she chocked out, having reached the height of her performance. "If I'm honest with myself, I can't say I haven't seen this coming. No one lives for that long without keeping some deep dark secret... I just thought it would be something less...," she dramatically wiped at her cheeks and eyes with the back of her hand and sniffled her nose, "... something less unforgivable."

Duncan petted her shoulder. "There, there," the gesture seemed to say. The expression on his face showed deep-felt and genuine concern. They had known each other for several months now. Those months had not always been a walk in the park, but despite that he had never seen her cry. The fact that she cried now probably inspired a certain level of preoccupation and sympathy which was precisely what she had been aiming at all along.

"Duncan, you think she's your friend. But we can't trust her. It's clear where her loyalties lie," Cassandra admonished McLeod. Her distrust seemed to be deeply rooted and spoke volumes about the depth of the scars her run-in with Methos had left all those centuries ago. She wondered what it had been he had done to her. Before she had the opportunity to ask her about it, Duncan spoke up in her defence.

"Look at her. She's obviously in pain. I'm not going to turn away a friend in need."

"Thank you," Liz said quietly, humbled by McLeod's gentle words. In fact they made her re-evaluate her position towards him. She made a silent vow to herself that she would do everything in her might to keep Duncan out of harm's way as well.

But Cassandra refused to be convinced by her tears. She directed her intense green eyes at her. "Are you even aware what kind of monster he is?" Her use of the present tense in that sentence didn't escape Liz. "He slaughtered my people. And as if that alone wasn't enough, he held me as a slave and killed me off each time I disobeyed."

Liz's mind congealed in shock at those words. She knew them to be true. Cassandra's tone of voice and the expression in her eyes didn't leave any room for doubt. More tears spilled out of Liz's eyes and this time even she had trouble telling whether they were genuine or fake. Perhaps a bit of both.

Slave - the word echoed in her ears and inevitably certain associations and ideas drifted to the surface of her mind. Keeping a woman as a slave meant having her service you in every possible way. Rape. A big and frightful word. She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut tight as if to rid herself of those dark musings. That was not him anymore, she told herself forcefully. She tried to envision him doing something like that but couldn't. He would never force himself on someone.

The way they made love somewhat mirrored the way they interacted with each other. They both had down the art of teasing to a scratch, always testing each other's limits. She knew that he took pleasure in walking the unspoken, never explicit line, but he, all too aware of it, never crossed it and she loved him all the more for it. But maybe that was all an act. She thought she knew him, but did she really?

Then again no matter how much you think you know another person you can never quite guess what he or she is capable of. Come to think of it, she was not even sure she knew the extent of what she herself was capable of. Situations put people to the test. People adapt to them, in a way they mould themselves around them. And if they don't, if they can't deal with what fate has thrown in their way, they surrender and stop. Just stop. Dead end.

Her thoughts had reached a dead end as well. It was quite nonsensical going crazy over those questions. Only he could answer all of them. A hand waved before her line of vision. She blinked lazily. It touched her shoulder, applying soft pressure. She raised her head and met Duncan's concerned eyes.

"Hey," he said in a soft tone of voice.

"Hey," she replied keeping her voice just as low. Only now she noticed Cassandra's absence from her immediate line of vision. Looking around, she soon spotted her a few feet away, sitting on the couch. Her eyes were still watching her, ever disapproving. This time though she kept her disapproval to herself. Something had happened, something that must have escaped her while she was lost in thought. Perhaps Duncan had told her off.

"Have you talked to him?" she finally asked Duncan, wiping at the last remnants of tears with back of her hand forcefully.

"That's what I wanted to ask you as well," he answered walking over to the couch to sit down as well, putting a huge distance between himself and Cassandra. She was sitting on the right as far away from them as possible, while he was on the left, close enough to reach out and touch Liz's hand in a gesture of comfort if he wanted to.

She no longer needed to be comforted, however. She had already regained her composure. "Well, have you?" she insisted, looking at him expectantly.

Duncan smiled, a little of his exhaustion and weariness shining through in his facial expression. "No. I was going to when you walked in. I want to hear what he's got to say for himself."

At that Cassandra let out an unladylike scoff. "What do you expect? Don't be a fool, Duncan! More lies."

Duncan wanted to say something, judging from the expression on his face he was not too happy with Cassandra's remark, but she beat him to it. "I'm sorry for whatever he's done to you..."

She had wanted to say more, but immediately the other woman's eyes were upon her, sparkling with anger. "Don't dare apologize to me on his behalf! Nothing you say will ever be enough!"

Liz raised her hands in an appeasing gesture. "I know. And I can relate..."

"Relate?" Cassandra's shrill and angry voice resonated loudly in the apartment.

"Yes, I can," her tone was measured, controlled. It was fit to appease a frightened animal just as much as the angry woman in front of her. "In one of my past lives I was a courtesan. Men aren't always gentle. Some situations spin out of control when you're inexperienced." She threw the other woman a meaningful glance, willing her to get her point.

It seemed like she did. The angry frown on Cassandra's face retreated to a certain extent and left room for a tiny flicker of pensiveness and compassion. Perhaps they would never grow to like each other, but at least now there was an understanding between them.

Liz directed her gaze at Duncan trying to gauge his reaction. She could sense an apology coming on, though she wasn't sure what he wanted to apologize for. Was he sorry about what had happened to her or did he want to apologize on behalf of the entire male species? She just raised an eyebrow. "Don't be ridiculous, Duncan," she admonished him.

"I just wanted to...," he huffed in indignation.

Liz grinned. "Sure, sweet-cheeks. Just don't say it please! You saying you're sorry would make things awkward and this situation already is sufficiently awkward. We certainly don't need you to add to that."

"Alright," Duncan sighed, resigning himself to the fact that the softer more vulnerable side of his friend had come and disappeared just as quickly, making room for her usual snide and pragmatic self once more. "So do you want to talk to him first?"

She looked at him for a while and then answered his question with one final affirmative nod. "Let's head over to his place."

* * *

He had never given her a key to his apartment. It wasn't necessary. She always got in even without a key anyway. Usually she was quite cheeky about being able to do it every time, striding in through the door as if she owned the place. This time she didn't strut or swagger, she more or less crept in.

Her eyes roamed over the apartment taking in all those subtle, yet alarming changes that only a particularly observant person who was accustomed to the environment would notice. A forlorn coffee mug had been deserted on the sideboard among his vast book collection. Yesterday's newspaper was lying on the sofa, the different sections distributed in little heaps all over the cushioning. All those things were small exclamation marks that unsettled her because it showed that his life that usually followed a certain routine had been cast into disarray.

She took a tentative step towards the bedroom, but didn't get as far as the door. The Buzz swept over her, giving her a last pre-emptive warning of his presence before he breezed out of the room with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He froze. The bag slipped off his shoulder and landed on the floor with a thud. He followed its fall with his eyes and then quite inevitably his gaze settled on her. It seemed like the words "I can explain" would spill from his lips any second now.

A bitter smirk delineated on her face as she regarded him with her head slightly inclined to the right. "Running?" she stated the obvious.

He rubbed the back of his neck somewhat embarrassedly, then let his hand fall to his side. "Yes."

Again with the disconcerting signs of alarm. The lack of a sarcastic retort irritated her and simply screamed that something was wrong. To her it was about as unnerving as the sound of fingernails scratching on a blackboard. Before he said and did any more subtly irritating, out of character things she chose to take pre-emptive measures.

"What a fucked up situation!" she swore. She usually wasn't the type for profanities, but there was just no more adequate or elegant way to put it. Who knew? Maybe her cussing would cheer him up. He used to tease her that hearing her swear was about as out of character and disconcerting as the Queen being ecstatic with joy and sporting a football T-shirt. This time though his face remained stoic. No such luck.

"I can tell something is wrong, so talk to me," she implored. This was her waving the proverbial olive branch in his face.

He shook his head. Apparently he was too stupid seeing the olive branch even if she slapped him in the face with it. His reaction made her waver between feeling compassion for his situation and going crazy with rage. Just like she had been ever since she had found out something was wrong.

Apparently he wanted to say something, possibly lie to her, since he had already refused to tell her what was wrong. He took a deep breath, but before he got around to saying the first word, she silenced him with a loud "Shut up!" His mouth snapped shut and for the first time in their acquaintance he was at a loss for words, which was good because she wasn't.

"Now you listen." He opened his mouth, probably to sprout some stupid excuse for his packed bag. "Just listen!" Liz admonished him, waving her index finger in front of his face. "I know about Kronos. I've talked to Joe and McLeod and guess what, even to Cassandra." His eyes widened and darkened in anger at the mention of all of those names, because they inevitably made him realize that she had spied on him and went behind his back. "Don't give me that death glare, mister. You could have said something, but your lips were shut so tight I would have needed a crowbar to pry them open."

"That's still no excuse...," he started to hiss and advanced on her.

"Oh, hush, you stupid man!" she waved him off as if it was nothing and to both of their surprise he complied. She met his eyes, her shoulders squared, her jaw set tight. He was furious. The emotion was bubbling so close to the surface it didn't even need a lot of insight to detect it. She gingerly laid her hand on his shoulder which was so tense it almost felt like touching a statue.

"I'm still here, aren't I? Now put two and two together! What does it mean?" Her voice sounded a little gentler now.

"You're too stupid to do the smart thing and run?" he narrowed his eyes in disapproval. His attempts at ill-humour left her unaffected and unimpressed, so unimpressed in fact she swatted him across the chest with the back of her hand.

"No, it means I got your back, idiot."

His face showed genuine confusion. "Are you crazy?"

"Shut up!" she repeated simply.

"Don't tell me to shut up!" his voice was low and deceptively calm when he uttered those words, but there was a slight, very subtle undercurrent of tension in it which showed itself in the clipped and rushed way he pronounced the word "don't".

"You listen to me and listen very closely," she took a step closer to him. Her nostrils quivered a bit in agitation and her voice trembled ever so slightly. "I'm aware how serious this is. That Kronos fellow is trying to yank you around by the leash like some dog and you're trying to do what you've always been doing. You're trying to survive. I get that. And I'll help you if you ask me to. I'll try to understand if you decide to explain things to me."

"There is no time for explanations," he told her somewhat regretfully.

"I thought as much," she looked down. He was wearing heavy travelling boots. They were old and worn. The leather was scratched, so scratched that the original brown colour had made room to a shabby white at the tips of his shoes. She would have found that endearing had the circumstances been different. Her eyes connected with his again. He looked sad.

"Just answer me this. How far are you willing to go?" They both knew her words were not meant to be taken literal. What her question was referring to was to what extremes he was going to go to ensure his survival.

"I don't know," he said finally. "As far as I need to."

She hung her head. "I was afraid you were going to say that."

He let out a sound that was between huff and hum. Sort of a harrumph.

"I'll have your back for as long as I can. There is even a place I won't go. Not for you. Not for anyone."

"What does that mean?" he enquired. He was usually the one in their relationship who was all about cryptic words.

"Murder. Betrayal. Those sort of things..."

He nodded without saying a word. She sighed and leaned in to kiss his cheek. Her lips pressed firmly against his cheek, she took a deep breath to inhale his scent, his hands gently grasped her wrists, then the moment was over and she turned around and walked away without looking back. She walked outside the building, past McLeod's car in which she had come here. Duncan was still sitting behind the stirring wheel throwing her a questioning gaze. She shook her head. She didn't want to talk now. Liz shoved her hands in the pockets of her jeans and walked on. Her feet were providing a regular rhythm. She hoped it would soon help to calm down the chaotic thoughts in her head.


	3. Smoke and Mirrors

**Author's note:**_Thank you to my brilliant beta Jenn who's doing a wonderful job_.

_Let me know what you're thinking and hit the 'review' button. Flattery and constructive criticism make me write faster... ;-)_

* * *

When Duncan returned from his talk with Methos, he was raging. It hadn't gone well, perhaps because he had unwittingly managed to push the older Immortal over the edge with some ill-chosen words. It wasn't an unlikely scenario. After all she had sensed the anger boiling underneath Methos' calm and collected façade when she had met him. Just the tiniest scratch at those once thick walls that had been worn thin, might have had catastrophic results. It must have been quite some outburst. McLeod had even gone as far as describing his behaviour borderline crazy.

Still there was doubt in Duncan's mind despite Methos' confession to every single crime Cassandra had accused him of. The tiniest smidgen of him still believed in his friend's innocence; bless his noble and foolish heart. As always McLeod needed a sounding board to be able to make his ultimate decision about what to think of Methos. Of course Liz couldn't let this opportunity pass her by. Despite the fact that she was still reeling from her own talk with Methos, though for entirely different reasons than McLeod, she realized that she had to seize this opportunity to swing things in her favour. So she listened patiently to McLeod raging on about how immoral and dark and sinister Methos' past was. She even refrained from making a snappish comment when he said that he could not understand how the man could have committed such foul and horrendous deeds. In the face of his, partially rather melodramatic allegations, she tried to be the voice of reason. She chose to tell him what she told herself over and over in her head. "Think of Methos, think of the man you know and ask yourself whether he's still that monster. Is he still a murderer? Is he someone who takes pleasure in the suffering of innocents?" In her head the answer was always straight and clear. It was a 'no'. But McLeod seemed to struggle with the answer more than she did and that was why talking to her apparently wasn't enough to settle his inner turmoil. Perhaps he thought her to be biased and that was why he needed to hear someone else's thoughts on the matter. So he called Joe. And Joe was happy to oblige.

She didn't stick around to overhear their conversation; its course was rather predictable anyway. She could do without it. Cassandra had also wisely chosen not to interfere in the two men's conversation, quietly fuming in the privacy of Duncan's bedroom over his inability to see what she believed to be Methos' true nature.

Too much drama for her taste. So she left and waited for Joe to come back out in front of McLeod's apartment. She wanted to have a talk with him as well. Pick up where they had left off so to say.

At first she had been pacing in front of the building, now she had taken to leaning against the driver door of Joe's car. When Joe came back out again, he seemed tired. His limp was more pronounced; his hand gripped his cane a little more tightly. His gait faltered, then it came to a halt in front of her.

"If you want to have a big philosophical talk about good and evil, you'll have to find someone else. I've had enough for one night," he told her gruffly.

She shot him a funny look. "Why would I do that unless I wanted to rub my thoughts on the matter in your face? Which I don't. It would be too...," she paused, "... revealing. Where would all the mystery go? A woman's got to have her secrets."

He smirked and looked down. "Which makes it hard for people to trust you. Isn't that sort of lonely? Especially now?"

"Joe, Joe, Joe...," she flashed him a broad grin. "I've got to hand you that, you're quite good. And sneaky. The old appeal to her softer side routine. Bound to be working on anyone, except me. Are you sure I have a softer side?"

He raised his cane and tapped it against the car door right next to her. The sudden movement startled her the slightest bit and she flinched. He had just called her bluff.

"After tonight? Am starting to think you have." The cane pressed against her thigh, gently pushing her aside. She complied and soon their positions were reversed. Joe leaned against the car with a sigh while she stood in front of him, watching him curiously. His leg was probably bugging him, judging by the way he contorted his face when he gave his kneecap a brief squeeze.

She smiled. "You're right. I care for the people I like. I don't want to see them harmed."

"Does that include McLeod?"

Her smile turned a bit broader, but nevertheless stayed on the side of vulnerable. The way she rapidly blinked her eyes, the fact that she couldn't hold his gaze for too long gave away that much. "Yes," she admitted after a while, "you, McLeod..."

"The old guy," he concluded for her. Her head shot up. He was going to say more. "Man, gotta be one hell of a tough spot, walking in your shoes right now."

"Elegant shoes are rarely comfortable. I'm accustomed to this," she smiled enigmatically and walked up to him to lean against the car beside him.

"Somehow I doubt you're accustomed to this."

She sighed and looked at him, shaking her head. "One's got to learn to adapt. To any situation."

"What about Cassandra?" he inquired.

"What about her?" she asked back and kicked at a pebble with her boots. It flew up in the air and bounced off the pavement before it came to lie completely still again a few meters away.

"Not talking about her then, huh?"

Upon his question, she turned her head to study his face. Scruffy beard, some wrinkles around the eyes and on his forehead, dark eyebrows, hair shaven a bit too short on the sides of his head in a way that practically screamed ex-military. Tough exterior, soft heart, not too keen on the scheming and manipulating, but capable of it. She reached out and petted his stubbly cheek affectionately. It was a spur of the moment gesture, which made him look at her in surprise and her grin because of his reaction. She let her hand fall to her side again.

"Not a pleasant topic," she admitted after a while. "One thing's sure though already: We're never going to be friends. But I do get where she's coming from. I can understand she's angry. I don't say she doesn't have a reason to be. I guess if our places were reversed, I'd act the same way... Still...," her voice drifted off and died down as she became lost in her own thoughts.

"What?"

His question brought her back to the present. "Still I can't seem to understand why she can't deal with her own problems. If she's all that old, powerful and self-reliant, why does she need McLeod to fight her battles? Is Kronos that good? Is she afraid he's going to defeat her?" Her questions were more directed towards herself than anyone else. They were part of her thought process which she verbalized for once, due to the exhaustion and the by now overwhelming need to ease the heavy burden on her shoulders.

"She knows Duncan won't turn her away," Joe conceded.

"And she makes sure that won't happen by shagging him." Her crude remark made Joe cringe. As a former soldier he was used to comments like that, just not out of the mouth of a beautiful woman who usually possessed a certain level of sophistication. But he shouldn't have wondered. After the events of today her sophistication had probably been blown to hell.

"You really think so?" he enquired.

She turned her head to stare at him long and hard. "I know so. It's what I would have done back when I hadn't grown a conscious yet." He tried not to be disconcerted by that admission, but it probably showed on his face. "Awwww, Joe, there you go complaining about how I'm not upfront with you and when I finally am, you can't stomach it," she mocked, her voice halfway between dead serious and amused.

"I can stomach it," he straightened himself a bit saying those words, trying to reclaim the authority he had lost somewhere along the way during their conversation.

"Maybe I should try that honesty bit more often. It does have an interesting effect on people," she said with a grin which he rewarded with a dark glance. "Anyway...," she reached underneath her coat and produced a pack of cigarettes which she held out to him. He hesitated. "I thought you'd quit."

"Fine difference. I don't smoke when I'm around him. You see him around here somewhere?" He shook his head automatically. "Thought so. Yeah, I smoke. But I also drink, gamble and I'm an incorrigible flirt. Whole list of bad habits, darling." She waved the cigarettes in front of his face one more time for emphasize. He finally took one. Liz smirked in approval and reached for her lighter which she produced from underneath her coat. It was lipstick shaped, shiny and covered in chrome. She first lit his cigarette, then hers, before she took a long savoury drag.

"You were saying...," she said casually and threw him an expectant look.

"You," he emphasized, "were saying how you didn't trust Cassandra."

She frowned. "It's not so much that I don't trust her. I just think she's too focused on having her revenge. It makes for terrible short-sightedness. Pity, she's not even Italian. I hear they are big on the whole revenge thing. They've even given it a fancy name: Vendetta."

Joe let out a chuckle and coughed as the smoke got stuck in his windpipe. She threw him a smirk drenched in dry humour. "Amateur," she mocked and blew out perfect O-shaped circle of smoke.

"Easy for you to say. You don't have the constant threat of lung cancer hovering over your head..."

"Excuses, excuses," she waved his objection off with a hand gesture and a wink.

Joe took advantage of her brief display of levity. "So, you've talked to him too?" he asked out of the blue and made her face fall. Whatever trace of humour had been there, it was now wiped away. With her reaction so obvious she didn't trouble herself with lying.

"Yes...," she cleared her throat that suddenly felt congested and tight. "Yes, I have."

Joe threw her a pointed look. He had her now and he wanted to make sure he got all the information out of it he wanted.

"It's bad," she met his gaze and for the first time he knew her he saw something akin to fear in her eyes.

"What did he say?" Joe asked. The question left his mouth quickly and spontaneously, almost like a reflex.

She took a long drag of her cigarette. Her gaze drifted off and fixed on a point far down the road. The soft lines around her eyes became more pronounced as she squinted, almost as if to make something out in the distance. "What did he say?" she repeated with a scoff. "Not much. I didn't give him the chance. Would have been lies anyway. With him it's more about what he didn't say. I could tell he was scared. This Kronos character has got him backed into a corner which isn't good for obvious reasons."

"Obvious reasons? I'm afraid I don't follow..."

She blew out a cloud of blue smoke before she turned her head in his direction. "I reckon there are a lot of reasons Methos keeps his true identity a secret. For one thing his age is quite telling. No one lives 5,000 years without having an overly developed survivor instinct and track record marred with a few dashes of blood. There's one thing you gotta know about him. He's a selfish prick. He wants to live. The only question now is what he's willing to do for it."

"Sounds like you don't approve..." Joe's focus was now firmly on her, he was learning more about her and Methos than in the last few months combined. For one thing he hadn't expected her to have any kind of moral backbone. To his surprise he now found out she had, which made her all the more likeable in his book.

She ripped him out of his reverie by laughing a bitter laugh that miraculously managed to sound quite sad as well. "He's a prick alright. But he's my prick. I do want him to live too, but not at the cost of murdering other people. We all have our limits. That's mine."

Joe nodded. It seemed befitting not to say anything now that she had made such a big confession. He was unaware that she was yet to make an even more shocking one in a second.

"Kronos wants him to kill McLeod. In exchange he promised would kill Cassandra for him."

"Did he tell you that?" Joe's eyes were wide in shock.

"Oh, come now! Don't be ridiculous!" She chuckled at his question. "Course not. I tailed him and overheard their conversation." Liz said it like it was the most natural thing in the world and therefore should have occurred to him.

Joe wisely forwent being scandalised by her behaviour and just asked: "Do you think he will do it?"

A few seconds trickled past before she answered. "McLeod is his friend, but I've got no idea what he'll do if it boils down to choosing between his own life and McLeod's."

Joe didn't know what to be more shocked about: her words or her apathy. "So what?! Are you just going to stand by and let it happen? Are you going to watch him kill a friend?"

"No!" The word exploded right out of her. Apparently he had been completely wrong about the apathy part. "No. Of course not. I can live with him being a sinner, but not a monster."

Her words carried quite a weight and they needed time to sink in. Time which they both gave them. A thoughtful silence settle upon Liz and Joe. The way she had spoken had made clear that her words had erupted out of her spontaneously. Maybe she hadn't even been aware of her opinion on the matter until now.

After a sufficient amount of time had passed, Joe dared to ask his next question. "Does McLeod know?"

"Joe...," her tone of voice almost sounded offended, but luckily it held none of her previous rage. "Dear, Joe," she turned towards him and laid both her hands on his shoulders to give them a brief affectionate squeeze, "you really have to work on your question technique. Do I look like I had a lobotomy? Tell McLeod? Seriously! Can you imagine what would happen? Things are messed up enough as they are. He would go into full-on boy-scout mode. He's like a bull terrier once he's on the war path for a righteous cause. There would be no more wiggle room. And right now we desperately need wiggle room. Lives might depend on it."

More silence. Joe needed some time to digest all those information she had dropped on him without a warning, whereas Liz needed some time to formulate a plan in her head.

"I suppose you're now asking yourself why I told you what I know. It's easy. I need someone to confide in. Even I can't shoulder a weight that big," she finally said.

"Are you not concerned I'm going to tell McLeod?"

She smiled at his question. "Not particularly. Because you're smarter than that. Or at least I think you are. If you go and tell him, you could just as well go and behead Methos yourself. Now as I heard you claim to be his friend on more than one occasion, I assume that to be a very unlikely scenario, isn't that right?" she shot him a sidelong glance that was equal parts taxing and sceptical.

"I'm sensing a threat coming on. What would happen if I did?" He had no intention of betraying her trust, but the question forced itself on him. There was no way he could prevent those words from falling from his mouth.

"Well," she licked her lips pensively, "you're asking theoretically?" He nodded. She took the last drag of her cigarette before the heel of her boot extinguished its glow with a decisive twist. "I'd have to chain you up in the basement of your bar and throw away the key until this crisis was over. Theoretically." Joe coughed, some of the cigarette smoke getting caught in his windpipe as he sucked in his breath abruptly. Liz took in the shocked expression on his face and grinned maliciously in response. "Relax. I did say I was speaking theoretically. After all you're not a tell-tale, aren't you?"

"No. You just had me worried there for a second," he said with narrowed eyes.

"No kidding. Even I had myself worried for a second there," she shook her head as if she was willing to get rid off some dark thoughts.

A couple of moments passed without neither of the saying anything. Finally Joe broke the silence. "What are you going to do now?"

Good question. She had been asking herself precisely that question for the better part of this evening.

"I thought about paying Kronos a visit."

Joe flinched. "Is that really a good idea? Call me crazy, but one thing the guy really doesn't need is more leverage over Methos. Once he finds out about the two of you..."

"He's not going to find out. I'm not some bloody amateur," she interrupted him. His remark had made her temper flare. She hated it when someone doubted her skills.

"No, you're not," he tried to appease her. "But will you be able play a role 24/7? You don't know the first thing about this Kronos guy, except that he's evil and nearly as old as Methos. Plus, he's just found out that if he twists the old man's arm enough, he'll get him to do almost anything he likes. Doesn't sound too promising to me if you ask me."

"Yeah, I'm aware of that," she kicked her boot at the pavement in frustration.

"Just imagine your cover is blown, you'll end up making a bigger mess out of things. Methos won't be able to protect you in there. He'll be too busy trying to save his own hide," Joe reasoned.

"You're probably right," she finally admitted. "Call me crazy, but right now I'm less worried about Kronos than about Duncan and Cassandra."

"How come?" Joe asked, extinguishing his cigarette as well. It hadn't been a good idea smoking it. It had left a bitter, ashen after-taste in his mouth.

"With Duncan being this angry and Cassandra spurring him on with her hatred, there's no telling what they will do. Someone's got to try to have them listen to the voice of reason once in a while."

"Don't tell me, you're trying to be that voice of reason. This is bound to end up a disaster then," Joe ran his hand through his hair. Despite the direness of the situation he was trying to make a joke. It went awry.

"Well, desperate times call for desperate measures," she said evenly, ignoring the joke completely. "This might require more than words. I assume you tried to convince Duncan to hold his guns earlier," she waved her hand in the direction of McLeod's apartment building in emphasize of her words. "How did that work out for you?"

Joe frowned when his earlier talk with McLeod inevitably replayed before his mind's eye. "Not too well. He just didn't seem to want to listen."

The shrill chirp of Joe's cellphone abruptly interrupted their conversation. The hushed tones in which he spoke when he answered it, told her it was Watcher business. She impatiently waited for him to finish the call and just as soon as he did, she asked him what it had been about.

"Cassandra has apparently managed to sneak past us unnoticed. The Watcher who's on her case just alerted me to the fact that she's been spotted in the vicinities of Kronos' hideout."

"What are you waiting for then, Joe? Go and tell Duncan," she ushered him back in the direction of McLeod's apartment building. The Watcher, however, was hesitant to go and that for good reason. "You wouldn't be doing something stupid now like chasing after her, would you?" he asked, regarding her through critically narrowed eyes.

"Of course not, Joe. What do you take me for? A fool?" she lied through her teeth with a broad smile. Apparently she was a good enough liar to make Joe leave and no sooner had he headed off, she turned around and started walking towards her car.


End file.
